The Hardest Thing
by OneRiddleMore
Summary: Babet thinks back over the hardest, sadest and happiness moments of his life. Set after the book. Oneshot


**Hello! Ok so this idea came from the musical as I shall now try and explain. The first time I saw the musical Simon Shorten was playing Valjean (he was amazing). I then saw a less then legal clip on YouTube with Simon in his usual role of Babet and the ide started to form. The last part of the jigsaw came from the book where it says how Babet had a family and thus this was born. It's taken me forever to write it due t high stress levels and other fics. So please enjoy.**

**I should warn you that spell check is broken and I have spelling dyslexia soif there are any horridous spellings please forgive me.**

**Do I own Les Mis? Hmm... well I'm an English girl so no, no I do not. although I have been to Victor Hugo's house in Gurnsey.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>The hardest thing? What had been the hardest thing? If he looked back it was impossible to tell. His strongest memory was the day his first son was born. A day if happiness and sadness. His son had been beautiful, his most treasured possession, but his wife died. She had been the most beautiful woman he'd ever met but also the most delicate. Childbirth had proven to much for her and she died. Despite his loss it was not the hardest thing. Afterall two years later he remarried. She wasn't a pretty woman but they got on well enough. They'd had two children, nether as special to him as his first son.<p>

The hardest thing? It was not the saddest thing. The saddest thing had been the day he knew he couldn't care for a wife and three children. His wife demanded that they leave his beautiful son on the street. The boy was three and would have become a gamin. He couldn't let that happen. He went to his brother to ask for pity. His brother was rich and married. The house was a thing of beauty. He felt embarrised by his rags so waited until dark. He had thrusted the child onto them and ran. He just hoped they cared for his son because leaving him there was the saddest moment of his life. No one would know that though. His emotions were his secret. They belonged to him and only him.

The hardest thing? Some people would think that it had been losing his wife and other two children. He couldn't care less. He'd never cared for them. Not in the way he had cared for his first family. They stood in his way. He didn't know what had happend to them and he didn't care. He was free of them and free of any bonds. He could do what he wanted when he wanted. Freedom was a beautiful word.

The hardest thing? It was easy. It had started on a warm summers evening when he say that brat Eponine. He had gone over to mock her. She had tensed up and frozen as he spoke to her. She did't realise he wouldn't hurt her. He left that to her father and the others. She'd been watching some building, a cafe or an inn he couldn't remember. At some point the doors had opened and a group of students left. That's when it had happend. He glanced up at them and saw his own son. The son he'd given to his brother had somehow ended up in the same part of Paris as him. The small child he'd given away had turned into a handsome young man with many of his mother's features. The boy smiled at something his friend said before they walked off. That had been the begining of the hardest thing. Seeing his son almost every day but being unable to tell him. His son had been so precious to him but he couldn't disgrace the boy. He was a criminal.

The most painful day had been when the barricade fell. He had creeped in and was looking at the dead bodies of the students. It was there he saw his son. The body was lying flat and the expression the face held was one of freedom, the same look a mouse might have if it escaped a cat. He had run his fingers along the side of his son's face. There was a dying warmth as the body finished closing it's self down. His beautiful son was dead. His first family had all found their freedom and one day he too would join them. For now he would forget. He would forget his wife's smile and her laugh and he would forget his son's kindness. Maybe he would try to find his other two children but he doubted it. One day his own freedom would come but for now he would live the life of any other Paris man. A prisoner of the city.

* * *

><p><strong>Um so yeah. You can take that it whatever way you like. <strong>

**Thanks for reading and please leave a message after the beep... beep!**


End file.
